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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260409">Unfinished Metaphors About Drinking Honey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerling/pseuds/badgerling'>badgerling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>After all Nicky was taught to hate Joe's people, Awkward Boners, Awkward Flirting, Crusades, Everything Comes Back to Destiny, Getting to Know Each Other, Historical, It's not technically a first meeting fic, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Present Tense, Small bit of period-typical racism, Talk About Killing Each Other, brief masturbation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:41:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerling/pseuds/badgerling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting past the language barrier is the easy part.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani &amp; Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1429</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unfinished Metaphors About Drinking Honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm playing fast and loose with the concept of what "meeting someone" means in this universe. Killing someone over and over doesn't really count for that in this story.</p><p>This is not beta-ed. All mistakes are my own.</p><p>Not mine. Greg Rucka, Leandro Fernandez, Image Comics, and Netflix own them. No infringement intended.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>The Holy Land, 1099</b>
</p><p>"I dreamed of you." Nicolo doesn't know why he tries Greek this time, but the Saracen across the fire from him did not appear to know Ligurian. Or Latin. And Nicolo's Arabic was good enough for a soldier negotiating for food or trade, but not to hold a conversation. So in an effort to keep from making a fool of himself, Nicolo had mainly remained silent, watching his companion carefully, still wary of a return to the fighting and the dying from before, and once the Saracen appeared to understand their shared language barrier, he too chose to watch Nicolo in silence.</p><p>But the Greek... the Greek gets his attention, and the Saracen looks up at those words, his eyebrows lifting, seemingly encouraging Nicolo to continue.</p><p>"When you killed me. The first time, and..." Nicolo gestures vaguely at the empty night around their camp. "The others. I dreamed. I dreamed of you." He drops his hands and lets them hang between his knees. "When I was coming back, I dreamed." Their fighting and dying really had taken time. They had traveled far enough from the battlefield, each one of them running from the man they couldn't kill, the man that wouldn't stay dead, from the siege itself, that the only scent in the night air were summer flowers and not shit and blood, and the only sounds were night birds and not dying men and horses.</p><p>"They've stopped, though," the Saracen says.</p><p>The sound of his voice, lacking the anger and rage that had filled both of their shouts and screams in the days (weeks, it had to be weeks considering how far they were from Jerusalem, the city's walls weren't even on the horizon anymore) previous, the words spoken in perfect Greek startle Nicolo, but he manages to nod. He glances across the fire and watches for another moment, watches as the light from the fire dances across the Saracen's features, and if he was a man more inclined to poetry and not currently caught in a war, he would think the man was beautiful.</p><p>He did think the man was beautiful.</p><p>Had from the first moment he had seen the Saracen charging across the battlefield, headed straight for him, weapon drawn, blood and sweat and mud streaking his face, he had been beautiful. And breathtaking. And it had given Nicolo enough of a pause that the Saracen's first strike at him had almost cost him his head. It had hit his shoulder instead, nearly taking his arm, but it wasn't his sword arm, and he had managed to strike back, to fight hard and fast and to nearly win until lucky hits from each of them had ended the fight and their lives.</p><p>Nicolo has to shake his head, to clear away those thoughts of dying, of beautiful men sent to kill him. He rubs a hand over his eyes, wiping his mouth. "Yes. They stopped when we stopped..."</p><p>"Killing each other."</p><p>Nicolo made a sound in his throat. "When we sat down and broke bread. Before, even after you stopped killing me," Nicolo smiles, slightly, as if to ease whatever sting the words might have. "Those first nights of not dying. You were still in my dreams."</p><p>"The women too?" Nicolo looks up. "Tall one with an axe. The other...dark hair, from the East, uses a bow?" The Saracen glances off, like he was trying to remember dreams of his own, "Usually a bow. Sometimes a sword. But usually a bow. An archer."</p><p>He nods. "Yes. Them. And you. Still them, not you anymore." </p><p>"Maybe there was another reason you were dreaming of me that night," and the Saracen's smile is just as quick as Nicolo's but that in combination with his words still makes Nicolo's heart stutter and his stomach clench, but he writes it off as hunger and the heat and the fact that he had died many, many times. That's a much better excuse.</p><p>"I doubt that very much...," he replies, trailing off only because he's not entirely sure what to call the Saracen. Actually calling him the Saracen to his face seemed...rude. All things considered. Nicolo takes a deep breath. "I'm Nicolo. Of Genoa."</p><p>"Ah. Genoesian. We killed a lot of your people," the Saracen says with a grin, and in the fire light, it looks sharp and almost malicious, but Nicolo rolls his eyes.</p><p>"And we killed just as many of yours, Saracen." That earns Nicolo a laugh, one that sends a spike of warmth through his belly, the kind that twists and moves lower and makes Nicolo clear his throat and look away, staring into the fire and watching the flames dance, trying to will the thoughts and urges away. Trying to will away the sins he had gone to war to earn atonement for.</p><p>They sit in silence for a moment as Nicolo tries to get himself under control again until finally the Saracen clears his throat and Nicolo looks up at him across the fire again. He presses his fingers against his chest as he says "Yusuf Al-Kaysani. I'm not a Saracen. That word has no meaning."</p><p>"Yusuf," Nicolo says, not commenting on the correction because he's focused on the name. It's foreign, and he draws out the syllables like he's tasting them. He catches the way Yusuf reacts when Nicolo says it, the way his eyes cut away, the way he rubs his hands across his legs, the way he squirms in a way that Nicolo almost convinces himself he doesn't see, but then Nicolo looks away again. He coughs, shaking his head to banish the thoughts, searching for anything else to focus on. "How do you know Greek?"</p><p>That gets Nicolo another laugh, this one shorter, a little more bitter than Nicolo expected. "I'm a merchant." Yusuf waves the words away. "Was. And there's still a Caesar in Constantinople, and your Byzantines won't trade with anyone who doesn't speak their tongue."</p><p>"They're not my Byzantines, and he is not my king."</p><p>"Ah, but he called, and you came," Yusuf says, making a grade gesture with his arms as he adds, "Caesar," but then he smiles again, shaking his head. "Why do you speak Greek if he's not your king?"</p><p>"I'm a priest." Nicolo smiles ruefully into the fire. "Was a priest, I suppose." He shrugged. "And my father had enough money to send his sons to study abroad. I came to Constantiople. My brother stayed closer to home."</p><p>When Nicolo looks up from the fire, across the flames to Yusuf, the other man's eyes are turned toward the sky and he's shaking his head slightly. He's muttering to himself, it sounds like Arabic but not a dialect that Nicolo understands. Yusuf swallows and looks at Nicolo again. "How does a priest know how to use a sword well enough to nearly cut a man's head off?"</p><p>"I did cut your head off. It's not my fault you healed." Yusuf smiles again, the look fond or maybe Nicolo is imagining things. He shrugs. "If I hadn't gone to the priesthood, I would have gone to some prince's guards or to some ship somewhere. Second sons don't have many options. Second sons need to be prepared."</p><p>Yusuf makes a sound in his throat, something soft and considering, and even that sound makes Nicolo's stomach twist. He coughs into his hand, waving off any concern as just a side-effect of sitting too close to the fire for too long. He stands without saying another word, and the movement is sudden enough that Yusuf's hand goes to his sword. Only for a moment, though, before Nicolo holds his hands out. But he's also at a loss. Everything about this is...dying and coming back is weird enough. Doing it repeatedly should have driven him mad. Instead he's sitting across a fire from his murderer, thinking about how much all he wants to drop to his knees in front of Yusuf and do things that would condemn them both. He shakes his head.</p><p>"I am going to sleep. Tomorrow...Tomorrow we will figure out what's next." Nicolo doesn't wait for a response as he turns his back to the fire. He settles onto his pallet of blankets and abandoned clothes and bits of leather and cloth stripped from the dead. He closes his eyes and feigns sleep until he hears Yusuf rise, but when he doesn't hear him walk away, Nicolo cracks his eyes open to find Yusuf staring at him in the light of the fire.</p><p>"Sleep well, priest," he says, his voice soft and barely carrying over to him.</p><p>Nicolo does, and the morning comes too soon. The women were still haunting his dreams, but he's almost sad that what he had said held true. He did not dream of Yusuf. He rolls onto his back stretching like a cat even though he doesn't need it. His muscles don't ache like they used to, but it's a habit. His eyes seek out Yusuf, finding only an empty pile of blankets across what remains of the fire, but it's dawn, and when he finally sits up he manages to spot him a short distance away from the camp. </p><p>Praying, Nicolo thinks, but he doesn't know for certain. He's not familiar enough with Yusuf's religion, with his traditions, nothing beyond what the other priests, the bishops, even the Pope had said. Yusuf's people wanted Nicolo and everything he loved and cared about wiped from the earth. He watches for a few moments, taking in the graceful movements, and the beauty of it makes Nicolo's mouth go dry.</p><p>He finally shakes himself and forces himself to his feet. He retreats away from the camp, in the opposite direction from Yusuf. There's a stream not far from the camp, and now that it's daylight and Nicolo's thoughts and actions aren't tied up in murder and vengeance, he can see the small village that rests on the opposite bank. Small and seemingly untouched by the war, it's almost like paradise.</p><p>Nicolo moves away from the village, though, finding a tree and shrubbery along the banks of where the creek has briefly pooled into deeper water. He relieves himself against the tree, then glances back at where Yusuf last was before he strips out of the clothes he'd slept in. Out of the clothes he had died multiple times in.</p><p>The small pool barely comes up to the middle of Nicolo's thighs, but the water is cool and refreshing under the desert sun. He tries to focus on just washing, on the feeling of the water, on the scorching of the sun, but his traitorous mind keeps going back to Yusuf. Not just the man who had killed him, but the man from last night's fire, the man praying in the early morning light. It is a distraction. A sin. Something he should be ashamed of, especially when the thoughts of Yusuf make his cock stiffen and grow heavy between his legs.</p><p>Nicolo drops to his knees, hoping the shock of the cold water will get rid of his erection. It doesn't, and for a brief second, he doesn't try to stop his reaction as his hand comes down to cup his erection, fingers wrapping around himself. Nicolo shivers, but he only gives himself a few strokes before he wrenches his hand away, and he bows his head, muttering a prayer, something desperate and pleading. He keeps his head bowed, eyes screwed shut until his erection finally fades, but he still doesn't move from that spot, not until a loud cough breaks through his thoughts. </p><p>He glances over his shoulder to find Yusuf leaning on a rock next to the creek, Yusuf with a smile that felt like a sin in and of itself. He stares at the man for a long moment until he feels his cock stirring again, and he grits his teeth and curses in his own language. Yusuf tilts his head in confusion, but Nicolo just shakes his head before dunking his body completely under the water, hoping that by the time he has to walk out of the water to dress, his body would be back under his control.</p><p>Blissfully, thankfully, his erection fades again and he is able to stand without embarrassment. Mostly, because then he catches the slow slide of Yusuf's eyes down Nicolo's body, a look that threatens to undo everything. He grits his teeth, though, and sets his jaw and tries to keep control. </p><p>"Do you miss the scars?" The question catches Nicolo off-guard, and he looks over at Yusuf. He shrugs, though, absently trailing his hand over his stomach under his navel and over his hip. </p><p>"I would have liked to keep some of them." He glances up and catches Yusuf's eyes, watching him watching the movement of his fingers over his stomach and hip. "This one. Do you remember?"</p><p>Yusuf nods before he cants his head to the left. "Third time I killed you." He smiles, lifting his hand and tracing it over his shoulder, his collarbone, and down his chest. "I wanted this one to stay." </p><p>Nicolo grins. "Second time." Then he focuses on walking out of the pool toward where he'd left his clothes in an almost neatly folded pile by the pool. Clothes that were gone. He glares over at Yusuf, all teasing and flirting gone.</p><p>"My clothes?" He tries to keep his voice calm, but he isn't entirely sure if he pulls that off.</p><p>"Oh. I burned them," Yusuf replies, his grin never fading though now it was more teasing, less sinful and less likely to tempt Nicolo into breaking his vows.</p><p>"What?" Nicolo shakes his head, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "I wasn't out here long enough for you to burn my clothes."</p><p>"You were praying for a very long time, priest." And Yusuf almost sounds entirely logical when he says that, even if there is a definite implication in his voice that Yusuf knows that Nicolo was not just praying in the water, but then he pulls out a bundle of clothes from beside the rock and tosses them to Nicolo. "We will need to burn both our clothes before we go."</p><p>"Did you steal these?" Nicolo asks as he turns the bundle of clothes over in his hands before laying them out next to the pool so he can step out and get dressed.</p><p>"No. I paid a nice old woman for her laundry. She also gave me breakfast. Said I looked like I hadn't eaten in a week," he says as he pulls out another small bundle, opening it and spreading it out on the rock next to him. The smell of fresh bread hits Nicolo and makes his stomach rumble. "War's done, by the way. Jerusalem has fallen." He picks up a piece of fruit from the bundle, offering it out to Nicolo. "Congratulations, priest."</p><p>Nicolo laughs, beginning to dress himself without looking over at Yusuf. He doesn't really want to know if the other man is watching. He doesn't want to know if he's not watching either. "It's not my victory, Yusuf. It's not our war anymore."</p><p>"No," Yusuf replies, and when Nicolo looks back up, he's still holding out the food to Nicolo with his eyebrows raised, "That's why we need to leave. The armies will begin marching as soon as they're done tending to the wounded. That's also why we needed new clothes."</p><p>"Are we a we now?" Nicolo isn't sure what drove him to ask that. He steps forward, but there he hesitates. For a brief, crazy moment, a moment that makes his vision twist, his world turn sideways, he considers taking the fruit from Yusuf's fingers with his mouth. He shakes off that feeling, though, and just reaches out and takes the food with his fingers, pushing it into his mouth. Yusuf's eyes follow the movement of Nicolo's fingers, and when he licks the juice off his fingers, Yusuf makes a sound that is close enough to a groan that Nicolo's breath catches again and he fears all of his hard-won control really will be lost. Yusuf takes a deep breath and looks away, and suddenly Nicolo can concentrate again.</p><p>Not for long, though, because the moment Yusuf looks back at him, Nicolo feels lost again. "You killed me, priest, I killed you. Allah saw fit to throw us into this together. Like destiny." Yusuf reaches down, tearing off some of the bread and eating it before continuing, "Besides there are two women to the...north? I think. I think we need to find them."</p><p>Destiny. At first that thought terrifies Nicolo. Destiny sounds bigger than anything he had ever experienced, but he had also died. Several times. That alone makes everything bigger. And the way Yusuf is still watching him threatens to tear everything open even wider.</p><p>"Is there...do you have a family you need to see before we go?" Yusuf hesitates before he shakes his head.</p><p>"No. There's...there's no one." Nicolo isn't entirely sure that's the truth, but he doesn't know Yusuf well enough to push, not yet. Yusuf recovers quickly though, flashing an easy smile. "Is there some castle somewhere that we need to stop at? Let you say goodbye, priest?"</p><p>Nicolo shakes his head. "I gave myself to God. My family would not expect me to return even if there hadn't been a war to fight. Let them believe I found my salvation, my act of contrition in the Holy Land."</p><p>Yusuf makes another considering sound in his throat. "Act of contrition, priest?"</p><p>Nicolo takes a deep breath, but he doesn't answer Yusuf's question. "Why do you do that? You know my name, you knew my name before you knew my occupation."</p><p>"Calling you 'priest' is…" Yusuf pauses, and he almost seems to be searching for the word, and when he finds it, it's in Latin so mangled it takes Nicolo a second to translate.</p><p>"Your Latin needs work."</p><p>"We have time, priest. My question?"</p><p>"Answer mine first."</p><p>"I did."</p><p>"Why? Why is it easy?" That is what Yusuf had said. That it was easier to call him just 'priest'.</p><p>Yusuf smiles. "You don't even know, do you? You killed me. Many times. I saw you in my dreams every time." He takes a deep breath, and his smile widens, just slightly. He leans forward, his lips so dangerously close to Nicolo's. "You shine, Nicolo, so brightly, and if I call you anything but your title, if I stop reminding myself that you are holy, it will blind me, and I will not be responsible for my actions." He moves, quick, his lips brushing against Nicolo's. He sits back before Nicolo can even react. "Now. My question. Why does a priest need salvation?"</p><p>It is Nicolo's turn to grin, and he almost thinks that maybe it's just as sinful as the one Yusuf gave him that morning. For once, for now, in this moment, there is no hesitation as he moves forward, crowding back into Yusuf's personal space, close enough that he can feel the heat from his body, can feel every breath they both suck in and breathe out. "Oh, I have sinned, Yusuf. Many times. Many times since the first time you killed me. I'm not even talking about the murder." He smiles and it feels breathless, like that one confession lifted a burden. </p><p>"I will have you, priest. Eventually. And you will have me. Eventually." Nicolo's eyes narrow, and off that look, Yusuf laughs. It's as breathless as Nicolo's smile. "Destiny, Nicolo," he says, his voice soft as he leans in again, his words never moving above a whisper, "You killed me, I killed you, that's usually the end of the story. Now...a beginning." He bites his lip, eyes searching Nicolo's face, and when he finds whatever he is looking for, finds that faint glimmer of acceptance and anticipation that, yes, Nicolo could not keep from shivering through him, Yusuf nods with a kind of certainty and finally leans away. </p><p>"I think...I think you're mine. I think God made you to be mine, that He put us both here, there, wherever, because...because you are mine, I am yours." Yusuf hums, the sound thoughtful, and Nicolo finally steps back, clearing his throat and hoping that any lingering arousal is hidden, before he moves around the rock to head back toward their camp. "We need horses. You killed mine."</p><p>"I already have two." Yusuf's voice still sounds breathless.</p><p>"Did you buy them from a kindly old woman, too?" Nicolo says, glancing back over his shoulder to see Yusuf laughing as he gathers the remains of their breakfast.</p><p>"Oh, no, priest, the horses, I stole."</p>
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